Authors: David Wind
Life within the castle was serene. Gwendolyn led her double life without complaint, winning over the household servants by her calm manner and her common sense. She reorganized many things within the castle and also found time to accompany Miles on his excursions into the small village, and through his lands.
Radstock was a fertile area, and Gwendolyn saw that Miles was, indeed, a good lord. He was fair in his dealings with his serfs and vassals, and was considered a wise decision-maker for their problems.
But finally the harsh winter came, and in the seventh month of their marriage, Miles knew that Gwendolyn was near the end of her training.
He saw it one cold February morning when he stood on the walkway overlooking the training pit and watched Gwendolyn fend off both James and Arthur, who, although still four years away from maturity, were almost the equal of any knight Miles knew.
Miles left his vantage point and descended the wooden steps to the floor of the pit. In his hand was the last weapon that Gwendolyn would train with. He had ordered it made before they'd left for Wales, and it had been delivered this day.
Gwendolyn paused for a breath, and as she did, saw Miles approach. She smiled at him and stepped toward him, but froze when she saw the object in his hand.
"James, Arthur," Miles called in a low voice, "get the shields, the maces, and my axe."
The squires ran to the other side of the pit to do their knight's bidding as Miles reached Gwendolyn's side.
"You are almost ready, my lady," he said. Then he lifted the weapon in his hand.
Gwendolyn stared at the dark, hammered head of the battle-axe and then gazed at the polished wood of its handle.
"Why the axe?" she asked even as she reached out to touch it.
"Because it is your heritage. The Normans do not appreciate the subtle art or the beauty of the axe—they prefer the mace. But nothing is the equal of this," Miles declared, thrusting the newly made weapon into Gwendolyn's hands. "For hundreds of years the fighters of England have used this. It is a part of us."
"As it shall be a part of me," Gwendolyn replied solemnly. "It is so light," she said.
"It was made differently. Look at the handle. It is not carved from one piece of wood. It is two hollowed halves, with an iron rod in its center. The head is wider, but the shaft narrower. It will sing in the air when used. Try it, my lady knight, test its feel," he ordered.
Gwendolyn stepped back and lifted the axe. Her hands gripped it tightly, finding purchase and balance while she swung it. "It feels good," she said when she stopped her movement and looked at Miles.
"You will practice what I show you now for the next week. But, you will use the axe in a different manner than the accepted one."
"How?" Gwendolyn asked, wondering exactly what Miles had in mind.
"No shield. You will fight two-handed. The shield will hamper you; your speed will be your defense."
Gwendolyn gasped when she heard him speak and shook her head. "Against the mace?"
"Remember my fight with Morgan? Remember how useless the shield was for me?"
"But you used it at the beginning," she reminded him. "My strength is different than yours. Gwendolyn, think about the past seven months. Has there ever been a time I have not stressed speed? I have told you to strike and move. Strike and move. You are strong, but no match for a man such as Morgan. You cannot fight his type of man with only one arm. You need all your power, and that power is in your shoulders."
Gwendolyn listened to his words and thought about them.
Finally she nodded, accepting Miles's judgment. "As you say," she added in a low voice just as the squires returned.
Miles chose a shield and axe, and then faced his wife. For the next two hours he instructed her and the squires in the handling of the weapon. He made them attack him, strike against his shield, attack again, and strike again. By the end of the afternoon, everyone was exhausted from the unfamiliar fighting and gladly ended the session.
For the next week, Gwendolyn and the twins practiced their axe work alone, save for the twice-daily visits of Miles, who would watch silently, offering advice only when it was necessary. By the end of the week, Gwendolyn's axe was like an extension of her hands, and her swings were accurate and hard.
But then Christmas came, and all training halted in deference to the occasion. After the holy mass, led by the Bishop Montgomery ended, a hurried announcement reached Miles and Gwendolyn as they talked with the bishop about the upcoming crusade. A visitor was approaching, and when Miles learned who it was, he welcomed him warmly within Radstock Castle.
William Marshall, Earl of Pembroke, arrived with a large retinue. After seeing to his men, Gwendolyn hastily ordered the servants to prepare a small feast while Miles escorted Richard's chief advisor to the guest chamber.
By the time everything had settled down, and the boards in the great hall had been prepared, Gwendolyn, with Roweena's assistance, was dressed for the evening.
The great hall of Radstock was large, and tapers burned in their niches, illuminating the room brilliantly. Miles's knights lined one side of the hall, Marshall's men lined the other. At the High Table sat Miles and William Marshall, with Gwendolyn between them. Standing behind the table were James, Arthur, and Roweena, ready to fill any request.
The three musicians whom Gwendolyn had sent for sat in one corner, playing their lilting music as the food was served, and the wine and mead poured.
"You are looking well, Lady Gwendolyn. Marriage agrees with you," Marshall said in compliment.
"Nay, my lord," Gwendolyn replied. "It is not marriage that agrees with me, but my husband."
Marshall laughed loudly, slapping his open palm on the table and causing his cup to turn over. He shook his head and turned to Miles. "You have won more than a wife!" he declared.
"Much more," Miles replied in a low voice before he forced a smile to cover his face.
"Would that Richard find one,” Marshall said as he lifted a piece of meat and stared at it.
"He shall," Gwendolyn stated. "When the time is right."
"No, my lady. I think not," Marshall replied before he took a bite of his food.
"But he must," Miles stated. "England must have an heir."
"Miles, you know him as well as I. Do you think he will beget a son?"
Miles stared into William Marshall's eyes and slowly shook his head. "I do not know," he whispered.
"Enough!" Marshall shouted, forcing his burly features into a grimace that passed for a smile. "I bring you news," he said.
"Richard has reached the Holy Land?" Gwendolyn asked.
"Nay. Philip is playing his political games. He's had Richard waiting in Normandy for three months while he sits on his French throne and laughs at us. Now, Richard is realizing that he may have to fight without Philip and his men."
"You told him that last year," Miles reminded the earl.
"Yes, but that was last year. Richard has a short memory when he wants to fight. But that matters not. What is important is that Richard is stalled, and in need of more men and money."
"I will be joining him with fifty of my own knights. I cannot afford to give him any more money!"
"Nor would he ask it of you," Marshall said quickly, knowing well how much wealth Miles had already given over to Richard. "I have been sent to squeeze more from everyone, but Miles, it saddens me deeply. Richard will bankrupt our land in an effort to meet Saladin."
"Saladin?" asked Gwendolyn at the mention of the unfamiliar name.
"Saladin, the sultan of the Moors. He has united the Saracens, and defeated every Christian army that has gone before him. I swear, it is Richard's dream to defeat him. Not for England, or Normandy, but for his own glory!"
"And he will not be put aside?" Gwendolyn asked.
"No. It is more the shame that Geoffrey had lost good Henry's ear. For if he had not, he would be king of England and alive this day. We would not be facing the loss of our country through the sales of its lands."
"My lord, speak not so loudly, for your words are treason itself," Miles cautioned.
"No, my loyalty is unquestioned; I but wish our land ruled by a king who would stay here, rather than cross half the world to fight and possibly die. Can you imagine John Lackland as our king?"
"I pray it never happens."
"But it may. However, again I have gone off track. I have come to bring you news. Richard has declared a spring tournament to celebrate the new departure date for the Crusade. All the knights of the land are urged to participate. The only requirement is that a fee be paid to aid in the freeing of the Holy Land. The prize Richard offers is a new earldom."
Gwendolyn listened intently to Marshall's words, and when he'd spoken the proclamation, her heart beat faster and she stared pointedly at Miles. "Any knight may enter?" she asked.
"Any knight," Marshall repeated, "who but has the entrance fee."
"Richard is becoming desperate to begin this folly," Miles ventured.
"He has an army to feed, Miles, and he must raise the funds somehow. A tournament is as good a way as any."
"True," Miles replied, but his eyes were fixed on Gwendolyn's and he knew exactly what was going through her mind.
"The fee?" Miles asked.
"Whatever the knight will pay."
Unnoticed by the king's old tutor, Gwendolyn and Miles held a silent exchange as their eyes stayed locked upon each other. The look Gwendolyn favored him with spoke more than any words could, and Miles knew that there was no protest he could utter to hold back his wife from her desire. Because he had trained her himself, he knew her will and strength, and imperceptibly nodded his acceptance of her desire.
"My lord," Gwendolyn said in a voice that brought the Earl of Pembroke's eyes to hers. Before she continued, she reached to the back of her neck and unclasped the heavy gold rope necklace she wore and placed it on the table between her and Marshall. "Will this suffice as the fee for a knight to enter the tournament?"
Marshall, eyeing the thick gold rope, nodded his head slowly. "My lady, the king thanks you. Who will be your champion?" he asked with upraised eyebrows, already sure of her answer, and enjoying this game of the newlyweds.
"You shall know at the proper time," she declared mysteriously, enjoying the sudden puzzled reaction that shadowed Marshall's face.
With that, and another quick exchange of glances, the three at the High Table returned to their food. Marshall's message had been delivered, and with his job done, they could all enjoy themselves without further concern.
But Gwendolyn's mind would not leave the subject. A restless energy filled her, and the anticipation of her first tourney began to grow within her mind.
Chapter Ten
SPRING
had come early to Radstock. The hills surrounding the castle turned green and lush. The air seemed to come alive with the scents of trees and flowers opening to the warmth.
But within Radstock Castle itself, and the deep pit in its bowels, nothing had changed. Every day Gwendolyn worked, practicing with sword, axe, dagger, and lance, until she was so perfectly attuned to each weapon that they were all of second nature to her.
But this day was different, and Miles knew it as he walked across the dirt floor toward his wife. She was alone this morning, practicing with her sword the maneuvers Miles had disciplined into her mind.
When she saw Miles's face her arms grew heavy. Lowering the sword of her father, she waited for him to reach her. "What is wrong?" she asked quickly.
"Nothing and everything. Have you lost track of time?" he asked with a soft smile.
"Time?"
"In two weeks is Richard's spring tournament," he told her.
Gwendolyn stared at him for a moment before she shook her head. "It is truth, Husband, I have lost all track of time."
"We will be leaving in three days. Are you ready?"
"Am I?" she asked, returning his question with one of her own.
"You are," he declared formally.
"I thank you, my lord," she whispered.
Miles flashed a brief smile at her and then clapped his hands. Roweena appeared suddenly, and Gwendolyn stared openly at her servant. "Go with Roweena. She will prepare for this day," he commanded.
It was then that Gwendolyn understood Miles's strange formality. Her heart skipped a beat and her lips trembled slightly. She knelt quickly before Miles and bowed her head low. "Yes, my lord," she said in a trembling voice. Standing, she unsheathed her silver sword and handed it, hilt first, to Miles.
When she was gone, Miles stared at the spot she had disappeared from. He was committed now, and it could not be stopped.
"Arthur! James!" he called. The fourteen-year-old twins appeared and stood before their lord. "James, Arthur, you have both been chosen, by myself, by the Lady Gwendolyn, and by the powers that rule this land, to play a special part in our lives. I must ask you formally, for the last time; do you wish to continue in our services? If you decide not, I will find you a suitable knight to continue your training. I know that neither of you shall ever divulge what you have seen."
"We choose to stay, my lord," they said in unison, their large blue eyes staring openly at Miles as they both knelt before him.
“And I accept your service, and both I and the Lady Gwendolyn are in your debt. Rise, Squires."
The twins rose slowly, their eyes never once leaving Miles's. "I have made my decision. James, you are to be Gwendolyn's squire. Will you carry out your duties unswervingly?"
"Yes, my lord," James replied.
"Then go and put on the garments of your station." When the squire was gone, Miles turned to Arthur. "Prepare yourself and bring my full dress to my antechamber."
"Yes, my lord," Arthur said. Turning, he ran swiftly from the dark chamber to do his bidding, and to prepare for what lay ahead, on both this day, and the months to come.
<><><>
Gwendolyn sat in the tub, willing her tense muscles to calm while Roweena combed her hair and pleated it in even rows. For nine long months she had followed the dictates of her fate and had worked ceaselessly to attain her goals. Today she had realized when she stared into her husband's eyes, would be the day she'd see the goals reached.
Although she knew that this would merely be another step on the path that led to her destiny, she believed it to be the most important step.
She and Miles had spent much time discussing how she would be able to remain undiscovered as a woman, yet fight and tourney as a knight. It had been only the week before that they had come across the perfect method.
"There is only one way," Miles had declared. "Tell me, Husband, for I cannot think of any."
"Your voice is not deep enough, you cannot speak. Your face is too beautiful, it cannot show. That is the answer."
"Unravel this riddle for me," Gwendolyn had begged when she had heard his words and seen his smile.
"It is no riddle; rather, it is the true way of things. You must swear a double oath to me, and because it will be to me alone, I am the only person who can release you from it," he'd stated smugly.
"And that oath?"
"The first part is an oath of silence: that until the Holy Land is freed from the hold of the Saracens, you shall not speak. The second part is similar. You take oath that until the Holy Land is free, no man may look upon your face."
"But," Gwendolyn had cried when his words echoed through her mind, "it will not be possible."
"Yes, it will. Your squire will be your spokesman. When you are not about your knightly duties, you are the Lady Gwendolyn of Radstock and unbound by the oath of your knightly self. As for your face, a leather mask will be made revealing only your eyes, and with small holes to breathe through."
"Are you sure it will suffice?" she'd asked.
"It is your only chance. Do you agree?"
"I agree, my lord," she'd replied.
When Gwendolyn had more time to think about Miles's idea, she saw it was not only the perfect solution, but the only one feasible.
"My lady?" Roweena called for the third time.
"Yes?" Gwendolyn asked, drawn from her thoughts. She looked up to see Roweena standing with her bath sheet. She stood, letting her servant wrap her tightly. "Where are my clothes?" she asked.
"My lady, Lord Miles ordered me to bring you to his chamber without clothing," she stated.
"So be it," Gwendolyn replied. She followed Roweena across her own antechamber and waited until the young woman opened the heavy door leading into Miles's formal dress chamber.
When she entered the room, she paused. Lined on the floor were all the garments of her rank. Standing to one side was James, fully dressed, and with a new surcoat. Gwendolyn stared at its coat of arms, until her throat constricted tightly.
The coat of arms was completely new. It was the full coat of Radstock, surrounded by a golden border, and sitting upon the border was a golden eagle with its wings spread wide.
When Gwendolyn finished looking at it, she gazed into James's eyes. "Leave us," James commanded Roweena in a voice that brooked no argument.
Roweena stiffened momentarily, then turned and left the small chamber.
"My lord," James said as he stepped toward Gwendolyn. "I am James, son of Harold, who died in the service of good King Henry. Will thou accept me as your squire?" he asked, going to one knee before her.
"Rise, James, son of Harold. I accept thee as my squire and accept my responsibility to you as your lord."
"I thank you, my lord," James replied when he stood. "It is time to dress," he said. Gwendolyn lifted her arms, and James unwound the bath sheet. She stood naked before him, not bothered by him seeing her so, knowing that he did not look upon her as a woman. When he had offered his service as squire, he had looked upon her as he would any other knight.
James moved swiftly and surely as he dressed Gwendolyn. He dressed her the same way that Miles had every day of the past nine months. First her loincloth, which James clasped over her hips. Then he held her breast support, and when it was slipped over her arms, James stepped behind her to buckle it closed.
He returned to the garments on the floor and carefully lifted the first. He held it up for Gwendolyn to inspect, and her breath caught in her throat. It was a new gamboise, the stitching of the quilt showed that fact plainly. He held it toward her, and she put her arms through the proper openings. Stepping behind her again, James laced the protective undergarment closed. Gwendolyn stood proudly, gazing down at the gamboise. It reached to mid-thigh and was split in the center as would be the hauberk.
"Sewn into the middle of the gamboise," James said in a low voice, "is a metal breastplate. Sir Miles thought it would be best."
Gwendolyn didn't reply as James continued to dress her.
Next came the cuisses, the protection for her thighs, knees, and shins, and over that, James laced on the full maille chausses. When he was done, he stepped back to inspect his work. Nodding, he returned to the waiting objects and picked up the next.
Twenty minutes later, Gwendolyn's arms were protected by rerebraces, and vambraces of leather, and maille, and James was holding up the shining new hauberk for Gwendolyn's inspection. The coat of maille glowed from the light of the tapers, and, again, Gwendolyn's breath caught. She held up her arms, and James draped the hauberk upon her. The weight of the maille was not light, but Gwendolyn felt it not at all as chills of anticipation and excitement coursed along her skin. When the maille was in place, she breathed deeply, adjusting her body to its weight.
Carefully, James placed the arming coif over Gwendolyn's head and laced it at her throat. Then he lifted Gwendolyn's coif-de-maille, with its full-shoulder coverings, and settled it on her.
After he attached the coif to its hooks, James turned from her and went to the table. There he lifted some folded material and returned to Gwendolyn. "My lord," he said as he unfurled the surcoat. Emblazoned on its front was an- other coat of arms. This time no shield of Radstock showed. The coat of arms was simple in the extreme, yet it sent Gwendolyn's blood running molten within her veins.
Embroidered upon the surcoat was a perfect circle of black. Within the circle was a golden eagle, its wings outspread. In the eagle's talons was a silver longsword, and beneath the horizontal longsword was the winged dragon of Wales. Gwendolyn closed her eyes for a moment as her mind whirled happily. She opened them to find James holding the surcoat up, ready to slip it over her head.
It took only five minutes more for James to finish. He attached the weapon hooks and placed her long dagger on one, her battle-axe upon the other, and then reverently, for he had witnessed the power of the silver sword, attached the sword in its scabbard to the proper place.
When that was done, James bowed to Gwendolyn and left the chamber. While she was alone, she tried to calm her mind. The unfamiliar feel of her new armor did not bother her, and her only thought was a prayer that she would be able to handle herself without giving away her true identity.
Then all thought was wiped from her mind when she heard movement from the other chamber. She gazed at the door- way and then held her breath. James and Arthur stepped inside. They were now dressed differently. James wore the same surcoat he'd had on when he'd dressed Gwendolyn, and Arthur wore the coat of arms of Radstock. They stepped forward, separated, and stopped in unison. When they did, Miles entered.
He was dressed exactly as she, in full knightly armor, and upon his surcoat was the emblem of Radstock. His longsword hung almost to the floor, and his mailled hand rested on its hilt.
He stopped three feet from Gwendolyn, and his deep green eyes stared into her lighter ones. Then a shadowy smile etched the corners of his mouth.
"Kneel," he commanded in a low voice.
Gwendolyn shook herself free of his haunting gaze and lowered herself to both knees. There, below her husband, she raised her eyes to his.
"On this day, we do perform a service for our country," he proclaimed in a smooth, rolling voice. He withdrew his longsword and raised it above her head with both mailled hands. "By the right given to me as a knight of England, I do proclaim in the very name of England," he intoned and touched her left shoulder with the blade before lifting it and speaking again. "And, with the grace of our king, Richard.
I," he said, lowering the sword to rest upon her right shoulder for a moment, before lifting it above her head again. "And, by the powers that oversee all that happens upon this earth," he intoned as the sword dropped for the third time to rest upon Gwendolyn's mailled head, "I declare you a knight of England, and charge you with all the responsibilities and obligations of your new rank. Rise, Sir Eldwin, Knight Protector of Radstock," he finished.
With her eyes filling with teardrops, Gwendolyn rose to face her husband on equal footing.
"Your sword, Sir Eldwin." Gwendolyn withdrew her sword, and handed it to him. "Upon this sword, you must now swear your oath."
Gwendolyn looked at the silver sword and cleared her mind of everything. She sensed the power of the blade and willed all other thoughts, save the thought of it, away. Kneeling upon one knee, she took the sword in her mailled hands, and, holding it in front of her, with her eyes locked upon Miles's, she spoke.
"I, as Sir Eldwin, hereby swear that until the Holy Land is freed of Saracens and returned to the rightful hands I shall not speak, nor shall I let any gaze upon the face beneath the armor I wear." Then Gwendolyn brought the blade to her lips and pressed it close.
"Rise, Sir Eldwin, and receive a gift."
Gwendolyn stood again, and looked at Miles's outstretched hand. Hanging from his fingertips was a chamois mask. Instinctively, she knew it had been made from the soft leather that had always held her sword. She nodded, knowing she could not speak as long as she wore her armor and stood in the guise of Sir Eldwin. But she had no need for words.